dontjudge06242014aRe Read Online Free PDF Page B

arm I leaned back, and with my right
hand cupped my breast and squeezed my aching nipple.
    “Look at me!”
    I stared into his eyes, and found myself once again wanting
to crawl inside him; feel his warm strong arms around my body, holding me
safely within him.
    Trailing my fingers down across my recently shaved pubic
bone I brushed across my clit.  A surge of power seemed to emanate from my
fingers, lighting up my world as my juices began to flow uncontrollably.  I
slipped my index finger down between the folds, spreading my lips open for his
approval.  I hoped he’d at least give me the satisfaction of knowing he enjoyed
the view, but from his stone cold expression I got nothing.
    Forging ahead I slipped my finger inside, first the index
finger and then my middle finger, coating them both in the process.  I
retrieved them, sliding them up and down my opening, lightly brushing my clit
with each stroke before returning them inside once again.  I lowered myself
onto my back, staring at the ceiling and wondering if this is what he had in
mind.  Nevertheless, with my left hand I pressed into my clit, feeling it throb
under the pads of my own fingertips as I rhythmically stroked the opening with
my right hand.  I couldn’t believe how excited I was, and I feared I’d leave a
huge wet spot on his floor beneath me.
    I can hear him shifting in his chair, and I’m hoping it’s
his need to adjust himself, not sheer boredom at my lack of experience.  Still,
my need grows, and I sense my orgasm beginning to mount as I begin to press
harder into my clit, making small circles.  My back begins to arch, and the
feeling spreads towards my outer extremities as I dig my toes into bottom of my
shoes.
    “Stop,” he says calmly.  I obey, although I feel the
frustration of need swell in my core as I lift my head towards him.  “I didn’t
give you permission to come.”
    “What?”
    “Sir!” he corrects me.  “I didn’t give you permission to
come.  Come here and lay across my lap.”
    First I kneeled at his side and then lifted my upper body
over his jeaned thighs.  Hardness at my belly told me he wasn’t completely
immune to my body as I’d imagined.  My head faced the floor now and my entire
weight rested on him, his fingers flowed through my hair directing it downward
so that it cascaded into a river and me in a cavern inside it.  I could see
little from the room my hair created; the exotic oriental carpet below was my
single focus and I began studying its pattern intently.  My hands pressed
against it, but they were outside my field of vision so I tried to connect the lushness
between my fingers to the fibers in the pattern below.  I did this as I waited
for his next touch because the fear of what I was doing was in direct conflict
with the destitution of my need.  It came without warning, as I was immersed in
the monotony of the rug, and the instant stinging hot pain shot up my spine
like a clear, paved road.  Then warmth, massaging, hot hands delving between my
thighs to test the reaction to his slap.
    Massaging.
    Then wham, he spanked me again.  This time my behind was
fresh with capillaries open and pink.  The sting caused me to shiver
uncontrollably until his long fingers began comforting me again.  Each time I
calmed, he hit me again.  My ass was burning with fire and I realized with
startling reality that I’d not been offered a safe word.  Yet his fingers
continued to probe around the opening of my ass and into the depths of me, and
then back around again.  Between each slap he marched me closer and closer to
the answer I’d come here looking for.
    He began a pattern of his own.  His fingers delved inside me
with five strokes, then retreated and hiked up my spine to the bare back of my
neck.  Down again to my ass; to touch it, explore its rim and then slid forward
inside me again to tickle the spot that was becoming my prominent thought.  On
and on he went spanking me harder as the onset